Billionaire Stepbrother Enemy by Stephanie Brother

Author:Stephanie Brother [Brother, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Stephanie Brother
Published: 2015-03-02T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOUR

I so relieved to get back to my own place. Left without goodbyes to anybody. I’ll make it up to Mom later, but honestly, I’d be glad to never see Randy or Scott ever again. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. I do much, much better here in my own city, with my own apartment, own job, friends, my own life. They can take their billions and shove ’em. Which I guess might take quite a while and be somewhat painful, which frankly I’m okay with right now.

It’s sort of like getting out from under a hangover, coming home after a trip back to the mansion. What with the funeral, making out with my step, and accusations of giving public bjs, I’d say this last visit rated about a 7 on the drama scale.

Oh wait. See, when stuff hurts my feelings, I tend to box it up and forget about it. Much less painful that way. Except, like just now, it tends to jump out of the box and escape when I’m not suspecting it: I forgot all about the GAY ROMP. All about how Scott was pretending to be so into me, when obviously he only wanted get his rocks off close to home. Or who knows, maybe kissing me was just another prank in a long line of unfunny pranks.

I toss and turn, not getting any decent sleep, with strange dreams of orchards and Randy undressing and Scott yelling. When I get up for work it feels like I barely closed my eyes. And then the calls start coming. I swear it’s buzzing every few minutes—work, my mom, even Randy.

Randy? He never calls, and thank god for that. So what the hell does he want? Maybe Scott is forcing him to apologize. Watch me give zero fucks.

I notice Scott hasn’t called to apologize. I guess billionaires are better at ordering other people around than taking care of their own business. Or maybe he’s not even sorry. Maybe he’s busy arranging another GAY ROMP and I’m out of sight, out of mind.

It’s not until my lunch hour that I decide to drop my barricade. I listen to my messages, and first up is Mom, telling me she’s sorry I left so quickly and that she hopes I didn’t believe that story she showed me about Scott. Just lies, nothing but clickbait, she says.

Second is Randy, and—I turn my phone off. Zero fucks, as I said.

Now hold on a sec, Ainsley.

I’ve gotten a sandwich to eat in the park because the weather is so pleasant. But instead of ravenously gobbling it up like I usually do, I sort of sink down onto a bench, my knees wobbly.

I’m um, a total idiot? Once it sinks in, what my mom said, I realize that of course that photo must have been faked. Do I not live in the age of runaway crazy celeb made-up gossip, plus Photoshop? And by the way, since when does my mom know

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